


RE: Msg: Hi Love

by Rainwater_Apothecary



Series: Pen Pals AU [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Best Friends, Email AU, Epistolary, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pen Pals, fRIENDS friend stuff is the best, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12427836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainwater_Apothecary/pseuds/Rainwater_Apothecary
Summary: Jean is a lazy college student who needs a pen pal for a class. This is their story.





	1. Yo Soy Dumbass

**Author's Note:**

> EASILY inspired by 'Lucky Us' by PrincessKitty1. Lucky Us is literally my lifeblood y'all.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6165606/chapters/14126616

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to finally get to post this!!!  
> (Now I can read it on the bus haha)

__Msg: Hi  
__

_Hola! Yo soy Jean, enchantada de conocerte!_  
…  


Jean leaned back in his desk chair and ran a hand through his hair. This whole pen pal thing sounded exciting when his professor had unveiled it in the syllabus but now, like most final projects, it brought him only dread. Should he reveal his name to this person? It was only the beginning of the semester, so he had plenty of time to befriend this person and ask for their help for his final. He sighed and deleted the line of google translated text.  


_Msg: hi_  


Delete delete.  


_Msg: Hi_ _  
_

_Hi, I’m a student with Trost University in New York, United States. Forgive me for not typing in Spanish like I’m supposed to be, but I don’t really want to meet a new friend by butchering their language. We can talk through Google Translate for now, right? I just don’t want to make an ass of myself-_  


Delete delete delete.  


_I don’t want to insult anybody by mistakenly saying ‘hi, I like your cow’ or something stupid.  
_

He grinned. That seemed innocent enough.  


_Your profile says you’re from Colombia! What’s it like over there? Gotta be warmer than over here.  
_

He shot a steely glower at the white shit piling into the glass on his window.  


_Could you just call me by my username for now? Call me crazy, but my mom somehow convinced me everyone on the internet is a serial killer and I should keep my name to myself. Haha_  


Delete delet-  


_Funny how childhood supersitions stick around, eh?_  
_Look forward to talking to you,_  
**_-LighteningScar104_**  


It was almost embarrassing how unlike Jean this email was. Granted, momma didn’t raise no fool so he was of course going to be polite and professional and all that jazz. He just hoped this **BeeKeeper5000** person would be comfortable enough with him to let his capitalization lapse.  


Don’t ask him why he pulled a Harry Potter username out of the aether, it was just the first thing that came to him when faced with the login screen on his class’ chosen linguistic website. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it more than once and that this Bee person would be his first and last contact. Hopefully. He really wasn’t good with introductions.  


His laptop made a small ping and blond eyebrows raised to his hairline. That was fast.  


_RE: Msg: Hi  
_

_Hola Senoir Harry Potter! I haven’t used this site in forever so I honestly forgot I had an account. I’ve actually since moved to the US and as such speak English pretty goodly at this point. ;) I’d still be down for talking though, and I wouldn’t mind typing in my native tongue for a change. I never get to use it up here in the Adirondacks._  
_Mountain people, mountain people and tourists everywhere._  
_Save me, LighteningScar, you’re my only hope._  
_-Save the Bees_  


Jean blinked at the quickly typed response. He wasn’t one to look a gifthorse in the mouth. If he was the only one in his class who managed to score an English speaker who still would talk to him then hey! Who was he to argue?  


_RE: Msg: Hi_  
_….You’re a real nerd, aren’t you, Bee Bumble?_  
_And don’t even ask why a college student like myself would suddenly become a teenage wizard online, I don’t know either._  
_Tbh (do you know shorthands? It means ‘to be honest’) I’m messaging to find a Spanish speaking penpal for a college course and they’re supposed to somehow teach us to not make idiots of ourselves come finals. I don’t think this will work, but the prof checks our accounts to see how often we’re logging in._  
_I may die, BumbleBee._  
_I. May. Die._  
_This is serious._  
_PS: Adirondacks? Like my neck of the woods Adirondacks or the Pennsylvania ones?_  
_-HP104_  


__

__

Belatedly he realized he’d signed his username wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't rag on him too bad, I asked myself the 'adks in penn' question as I was writing this. Downstaters have no clue how those suckers work.


	2. The Swiss Miss Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They become aquainted.

Marco Bodt sat back in his chair and sipped a mug of molten hot chocolate. 

Every time. 

Every time he made the packages with the little marshmallows he made it way too hot and burned himself. He’d just have to chalk it up to ‘The Swiss Miss Experience’.  


Blowing on his earthenware mug over a stinging tongue he scanned his inbox. It’d been dumb luck that had caused him to check this email account today. He knew one of his old business contacts only had this email and was going to contact him to forward information when his phone had buzzed. Harry Potter boy wasn’t the only lazy ass in this relationship. Marco still had his phone setup with his ancient email address, so he got notice of the email just as he remembered to get back to Armin. 

He probably owed a debt to the downstate college kid for reminding him to get back in contact with the author. Even if the Adirondacks weren’t in Pennsylvania. 

And when in the hell had he named himself beemaster200 or some shit? 

Rolling his eyes the latinx boy refocused on his computer and grinning, shot out one last response before heading out. 

_RE: Msg: Hi_  
_Oh, the New York ones. Don’t ask me how I somehow settled in a frozen wonderland after getting out of the warmth of Columbia. I don’t know either._  


Okay that was a lie. He’d been chasing his fiance. Potterboy didn’t need to know that though.  


_‘OMG OFC I KNO L337SPEAK’ my fingers hurt just typing that sentence. I am so sorry. No one deserves 90’s text speak. If you never respond I will understand. But yeah, if I have any questions I have urban dictionary and your email address. Well, your Linguistext account address. Same difference. :P_  
_What is the final project, if I may ask? If it’ll give away your college or something you don’t have to tell me. I’ll understand. I’m just curious._  
_So, Potter comma Harry, how do you want to do this? Total immersion that’ll just leave you clinging to google translate for life and limb, or just casual phrases tossed in here and there? I warn you now that I shoot straight back to South America whenever I’m overtired, so if you want a crash course just email me any time after 11pm EST._  
_-Bees_

Jean blinked.  


_RE: Msg: Hi_  


_I outta cut you loose just for that. My eyes may never recover. Cause of death leetspeach. My roommate will get automatic A’s when they discover my body in the library, computer open to the murderer’s final words._  


_You r cruel and unusual, B._  


_…But then, if I die I don’t have to do the final so hey, win-win?_  
_(I’m kidding. I’d like to actually **survive** college.) _  
_(But I like the phrases tossed in option. If I can’t read your words I’ll lose interest.)_  


Jean raised an eyebrow over his hand where it cupped his mouth.  


_If I can’t read your words I’ll Interest. And you seem like a pretty cool guy. I’d like to keep talking to you if that’s cool.)_  
_(Assuming you’re a guy idk. I don’t even know why I thought that first, actually.)_

Jean reread the email before finishing his own.  


_Tbh I have no idea what the final is. It made sense when I read the syllabus but now that I’ve actually met my penpal I have no idea how it’s going to work._  
_RIP HP_  


He laughed as he depressed the Send button.  


Now he just had to push past the anxiety that curled in his stomach freaking out over his choices of words. B had said they agreed to the setup, right? He was just working off of their words, right? With a heavy sigh he minimized his browser and opened one of his other assignments, content to churning out 800 words of bullshit before the class it was due for. Tomorrow morning.  


This anxiety he could deal with, and bullshit kept his mind from his lurking email account.


	3. New York, New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ch-ch-ch-changes.

_RE: Msg: Waddup_  
_Oh my god M this one’s gonna kick my ass for sure ok_  
_I’m but a small humble country boy wat am I gonna do in NYC? ?_  


+  


_RE: Msg: Waddup_  
_You’re going to rock it, of course!! :U Forreal though you worked hard to get this promotion and now you’re freaking out? Change is hard, nino. Nobody said it was going to be easy._  
_It is gonna be worth it though, promise. :) Did you get my Christmas presents I sent? :O_  


Jean scratched at his uncharacteristic five o’clock shadow where it tickled his neck. The opened cardboard box housed remnants of wrapping paper and plastic wrap beside his desk. It was one of the few boxes left unpacked. He sighed.  


It was true. He had been working hard to get this position. He’d been slaving over it. He’d accepted his parents’ tirade when they discovered his real motives behind going to college for business and journalism. Sure, he’d inherit the family business, but until then he wanted to do what he loved:  
Writing. Editing.  
Journalism.  
Magazines.  


And M had been right there beside him, always in his pocket or his desk giving words of advice or truly stupid concepts just to make Jean laugh. Somewhere around his third year of college and a year and a half into his and M’s friendship he finally decided they should probably stop calling each other by stupid usernames they made up on the fly. Especially since M had come up with his when he was fifteen. No one should have to bear that torture. Instead they’d traded first initials. It had felt so good to see his friend using at least part of his real name. It had released some sort of tension the college kid had been holding that he hadn’t realized until M had taken it away.  


M was like that. Always around with an anecdote or late night chat that Jean was picking up more and more of.  


Somewhere they had traded secrets.  


Jean wanted to be a fashion critic. He loved beautiful things.  


Marco was engaged to be married to a wonderful person. He loved beautiful men.  


Jean was from the outskirts of Buffalo. (But not too close.)  


Marco lived on the outskirts of a big town. (But not too big.)  


Jean had a terrible sense of humor and an even more critical outlook on life.  


Marco had a worse sense of humor but a sunny disposition.  


Marco used fucking smilies.  


Jean was learning not to hate fucking smilies.  


_RE: Msg: Waddup_  


_Of course I got your presents dude! Did you get mine??_  


_I’m gonna be eternally PISSED OFF AT YOU if I can’t solve this one fucking brainteaser you sent me though. I might just have to fly up there and kick your ass if I have to._  


_And stop listening to fucking Illinoise. It makes you mushy._  


Marco laughed and popped the CD out of his computer. How did J always know? Sifting through the plastic cases his pen pal had sent to his P.O. box with the name ‘Abumble Snowman’, Marco pulled free the cloth he had been digging for. Settling the black fabric on his lap he typed out a quick response.  


___RE: Msg: Waddup_  
_YES! And I’m still JEALOUS you got to see Iron and fucking WINE without me!!! Rude!!!!!! ;p_  


He touched the soft cotton of the concert shirt with one hand before continuing.  


_Yes._  
_**YES.**_  


_**BE FRUSTRATED.**_  


**_BE ANGRY._  
**

**_**It means I picked the right one to torture you with, J. ;DDDDDD**_  
**

With a smirk Marco remembered the wooden puzzles he’d picked up on a trip to Lake Placid. It was a tourist trap, sure, but it was also the only place near him that carried desk nick-knacks. He’d known J was going into full-time editing at an Actual Magazine in New York City, so he had to get him things for his future office. It was his legal obligation as best friend.  


A corner of his lip twitched at the memory. How had one college course lead to a three year friendship? His phone vibrated. _Bertl._ Butterflies still stirred in his stomach when his s/o talked to him. He smiled softly before tapping the t-shirt and deciding to wear it out for New Year’s Eve. 

****

_And I think I’m allowed to listen to Sufjan Stevens. It is my anniversary after all. ;D_

_RE: Msg: Waddup_  


_Oh shit it is isn’t it._  
_CONGRATS MY GUY. Have you guys set a date yet?_  


Jean leaned back and sipped his tea. M and B had been together for quite a while. They’d been dating for years and had just gotten engaged when he met Jean. 

_RE: Msg: Waddup_  


_No, but he just texted me so I have to go._  
_Happy New Year, J! Don’t get too drunk._  
_Or do, you know how hard I laugh when you drunk mail me. ;D_  


Jean smirked. Fucking smilies.  


Looking up at the posters over his desk that he hadn’t packed just yet, the blond laced his fingers over his head and took them all in. He’d had some of the band posters since high school, but couldn’t bring himself to get rid of them because he’d always loved them. You know how you go from loving a band to being embarrassed that you love them to ‘ironically’ loving them to just loving them? That was Jean’s relationship with Fall Out Boy and My Chemical Romance. So help him, he was lame, but M was just as bad.  


They had once conversed only in song titles.They hadn’t spoken of it since because they were both loopy, but he’d just passed his infernal Spanish course, so they were celebrating. It hadn’t been as bad as he’d worried about. M had tought him in that patient subtle way of his until he knew a lot more culturally relevant phrases and grammar than a lot of other kids in his class. It had left Jean suitably chuffed.  


Of course he took his best friend M (then B) out for booze after. And at graduation.  


Those had been hangovers for the books.


	4. One of us is going to have to change.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakup blankets and sad mix tapes.

_Sender: beekeeper9000_  
_Msg: Are you there?_  
_Timestamp: 1:50:56 AM_  
_Just got back from hanging with B and…J, it’s over. Six years and it’s over. He cut me loose. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do, J._  
_I’m sorry, I know you’re probably asleep, you’re a busy man. I heard one of the miniseasons of NY fashion is starting soon so you’re probably…_ _Dammit J, I don’t know if I want to be sad or angry or if_ _I just want to get a dog just so I have an excuse to run free into the wilds and leave no trace of my existence._ _Why a dog? I don’t know. I just don’t want to be alone, J_. 

__Tears pooled past a lightly freckled nose as big brown eyes stung in the light of his screen in a dark apartment. He hadn’t even kicked the snow from his boots._ _

____

_Timestamp: 4:05:01 AM_  
_Oh my god, M. Be angry with him. Be furious. I know you, you can’t really get angry for very long but when you are it’s fucking terrifying. Scare the shit out of the bastard and then get a goddamn dog. Get the biggest, furriest, slobberiest mutt you can find and bury your face in it._  
_Just don’t disappear._  
_I’m overnighting a package to you._  
_Stay with me, M._  
_I know how much this breaks you._  
_Stay put._  
_AND STOP LISTENING TO ASHES AND WINE I KNOW YOU YOU FUCK_

Marco laughed a small sniffle of a giggle at the capslocked insult from his friend.  


He sighed and paused Fine Frenzy. She just…understood. Now what was he supposed to listen to to quell his grief? He blinked away the moisture to reread a line or two.  


Overnighting a package? They would send stuff to each other, sure. Concert shirts and CD’s from Jean, especially once he got settled in NYC and tapped into the music culture there. (Marco had told him in no uncertain terms to go to a play or two for him. Jean had promised. They’d even looked at schedules together and picked shows before Jean disappeared for a small number of hours before typing up a storm in excitement and emotion over the play. Marco loved those times. He loved all of the times they had, even though they both had thunderous tempers that could lead to some dark accusations and words they’d not taken back so much as buried. It was a guy thing.) 

Marco mostly sent thoughtful gifts. Thick gloves from local shops when Buffalo had a cold snap for the ages, riddle books for long city commutes, fidgets he thought his friend would enjoy.  


And man was there ever hot chocolate.  


They always managed to uncover fresh blends and sent a couple packages across the state to one another.  


One Christmas Jean had sent a blend from the Hershey’s shop in Time’s Square along with a sky blue M&M’s shirt. It was a nod to how Marco’s favorite colors of candies were all either extinct or obscure and how much it frustrated Jean to find goods for him. They both found it funny though, and Marco knew J relished the challenge.  


Especially on the days when J needed a reason to get out of bed.  


Sometimes Marco worried about him.  


He’d never seen him, but he could well imagine the skinny kid who’s loving (and hilarious) mother fussed over whenever he went home for a birthday or a holiday. (Marco had once put the pieces together to find the day and they’d celebrated birthdays ever since.) All elbows and angles, for sure. (They had once taken on a challenge to type only with their elbows and noses and Jean’s precision scared Marco.)  


Marco sniffled once more and debated calling into work on Monday. What would J think of it? He’d probably go to work anyway and give himself a god-awful cold. Again.  


An overnight package though? Those were expensive! Especially with how heavy the two usually made their gifts. He shook his head and attempted to make his eyes somehow less wide at the thought of the price J was going to pay just to send him something. He couldn’t squash the warm tingle of excitement that blossomed in his chest at the thought of getting mysterious presents though. He was really just a kid at heart, so sue him. 

_RE: Msg: Are you there?_

_There. Now I want you to delete that entire fucking sad-ass album from your computer and replace it with that mix I made you._  


Marco shook his head as he took in the breakup care package his best friend had somehow pulled together in time to ship off before the night plane.  


Lifting the glinting disk from its case he took in the man’s messy scrawl with eyes squinted to read the titles listed. A snort and a shake of his head greeted the tracks. It was perfect. Everything from Sheppard to Minaj to AC/DC in a god-awful blend that was perfect for every stage of grief.  


Still shaking his head at what he was setting himself up for, he listened distantly to the disk drive slick into place and begin whirring as he picked up the softest, most cozy navy blue blanket he’d ever experienced. A vaguely familiar smell of spices, paper, ink, and chocolate greeted his cheeks as he whirled it around his shoulders. Had J just picked up a blanket from his apartment and shoved it into a box? The thought brought more tears to Marco’s face. He was used to how weepy he could get. He cried at ASPCA and Hallmark commercials, for fuck’s sake.  


Still, he had to make sure.  


_Msg: New Thread_  
_Last thread was too sad._  
_Is this your blanket, J? It smells like the gifts you send me._  


Was he supposed to notice this? Eh, whatever.  


Closing his eyes and letting himself drift in the half-sleep of one who cried themselves out, Marco attempted to put sources to the small smells he could pick up.  


Exhaust, from the big city. It must cling to J’s clothes like the pine needles out here do. Magazine ink. Printer paper. Ball-point pen and plastic. Chinese take-out. Hot chocolate and black tea. Coffee beans. Some sort of pine-scented cologne or deodorant. He paused. Cat?  


_Do you have a cat, J?_  


As his leg fell from where he’d been sitting on it it jostled the box. Something slid about in the bottom. Eyebrow quirked, Marco leaned precariously in his desk chair as Mother Mother complained about something in the background. One strong hand squeezed his desk and arm shaking with the memory of the too many times he attempted this move and landed on his head. His fingers recognized the texture of whatever his friend had sent but it confused him until he unearthed it in its entirety.  


Marco laughed, loud and quick.  


J had sent him a red dog collar. It was large enough to span Marco’s thigh with room to spare. He chuckled more as he toyed with it and fastened it around his leg distractedly. Well damn, he’d have to get a dog now.  


_RE: Msg: New thread_  
_Oh, yeah, I used to. Didn’t have time to wash that thing before I sent it. You’re not allergic to cats r u?_  
_Oh god I’ve actually killed you this time._  
_I DIDN’T ACTUALLY MEAN IT THIS TIME, M_  
_M, SPEAK TO ME_  
_SO TO SPEAK_  
_I’M FUNNY_  
_LAUGH AT ME SO I KNOW YOU’RE STILL BREATHING, MOUNTAIN BOY_

 _RE: Msg: New thread_  
_I’m not allergic to cats, J. _  


Marco hesitated as to which smilie he should end that sentence with. Oh well.  


_I hope this isn’t your only perfect breakup blanket though! You know the kind of luck you have with relationships._

_RE: Msg: New Thread_  
_Oh stuff it, M._  
_And I’ve got one other like that, my mom gave it to me and it was so glorious that when I found another one in like BB+B I bought it._  
_…I do not know if you have the original or not. Lemme check. ___  
_Nope, you’ve got the newer one. Good. You don’t want the one with the mysterious burn mark on it. Or the kitten bites. Man that was a mess._  
_Still cozy though._

 _RE: Msg: New Thread_  
_Are we wearing matching blankets, J? One of us is going to have to go home and change. ;D_  


He wasn’t really feeling that emoji, but it was the right one to use for his joke. 

_RE: Msg: New Thread_  
_Oh no whatever will ppl say when they see a goddamn lumberjack wearing the same retingote as a high ranking upstart editor??? Panic in the streets, I tell u._  
_Absolute bloody panic._

_RE: Msg: New Thread_  
_Ok now I know you’re trying to make me feel better. I had to google that one._  
_Also, your love for Jude Law is showing._

_RE: Msg: New Thread_  
_I’m a man of discerning tastes._

 _RE: Msg: New Thread_  
_Says the man who ate an entire bag of pumpkin spice marshmallows in one sitting._

 _RE: Msg: New Thread_  
_That was a dare and u kno it, mountain boy_

Marco chuckled quietly and shook his head once more. The blanket slowly consumed his form and he let it. Being a blanket slug was so much easier than being a single man in the shivery tail end of the mountain quiet season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jean's gay for Jude Law and so am I:
> 
> https://www.google.com/search?q=youtube+sheer+bloody+panic&sourceid=ie7&rls=com.microsoft:en-US:IE-Address&ie=&oe=


	5. Doges.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doges.

Jean’s hands shook as he opened his laptop and attempted to breathe.  


The red haired barista looked at him in concern as he settled his rattling bones atop the stool and set his paper coffee cup up on a napkin. As his computer woke up he fidgeted with something thin and plastic in his pocket before depositing a tiny mint beneath the cap of his beverage. Files of work stood sentinel on his desktop, but he ignored them and clicked open the multi-colored sphere of his web browser.  


He had long since hooked his email up to his phone, but for this one he needed all of M on his screen, not just on his little handheld device.  


_Msg: Are u there_  
_Company’s downsizing. I have nowhere to go. No idea what to do. Help me bumble boy, you’re my only hope._  


The chocolate hurt his tongue as he watched the little dots chase each other across his screen before his email lifted off and into the aether of cyberspace.  
Letting out a shivery breath that was at odds with the weather outside that prompted his leftover 4th of July starbucks cup, Jean let his eyes scan his inbox. He may have zoned out for a moment before the tell-tale ping of his inbox overran Halsey’s nihilistic power melodies in his earbuds. 

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_Oh my god. J. Okay._  
_You’ll get through this. We’ll get through this. You’re still interested in writing, right? Or is your heart set on editing? I think I have some contacts, but I don’t know where in the country they are, baby._  
_Are you okay with relocating?_  


Jean’s eyebrows rose over the steam pouring from his cup. _Anything closer to you?_ He wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure their relationship was quite there yet. Sure, they’d been flirting a little since …The Breakup, but they don’t talk about it. Jean didn’t want to be M’s rebound and M agreed.  


_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_Anything’s better than going back to Western NY, M._

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_Okay. We can work with that. Making some phone calls, I’ll email you any leads I get. Sound good?_

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_What did I do to deserve u_

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_I think it was the M &M shirt, tbh (that stands for ‘to be honest’) _

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_Haha nice one_  
_Do you still have that thing?_

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_Of course! I think half of my wardrobe is eclectic band shirts for concerts I never went to and the other half is eclectic band shirts for concerts I DID go to. Some of ‘em are getting kinda ratty at this point though. :(_   


He meant that smilie. His M&M shirt was faded and the iron-on letter was starting to wrinkle and peel. Same with his first couple of shirts his pen pal had sent him back when they’d first started talking. He wasn’t one to own things and then just not use them. Of course he’d worn them.  


It helped that having a ton of shirts that proclaimed places he’d never been bumped him up in the ‘cool’ and ‘travelled’ factors when around his IRL friends. The phrase always made him and J cringe, but it was the best they’d gotten. They couldn’t use ‘local’ because when J moved for college and again for his big editing gig all of his ‘local’ friends weren’t ‘local’ at all. M sighed at the memory.  


Armin lit up his phone. Marco grinned. Just who he’d hoped to hear from. 

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_I’m attaching my friend Armin’s contact information. He used to write for papers on the west coast, but the mountains called him back home. Now he’s got contacts EVERYWHERE and he said he’d be happy to help one of my talented friends. :)_   


He meant that smilie too. 

Jean’s eyes widened. Was his internet friend really saving his bacon? Again, gift horse. He could’ve just kissed his amigo, but he didn’t know if they were at the right place in their relationship for that. A couple years ago, sure. Now that M wasn’t seeing anyone… 

...yeah, he’d tread lightly. A thought occurred to him as he rested his elbow on his leg before settling his chin into his awaiting hand. He’d have to go home soon, but he needed to shoot off one more thought before consigning his friend back to his pocket. 

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_M?_  
_This mean’s I’ll actually know someone you know in real life. Are you okay with that?_  
_Does this Armin know how we know each other? What if he gives away our names to one another?_

A different shuddering feeling of terror pounded in his chest than the impending unemployment and homelessness he’d had fourty minutes ago.  


He felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his long sweater jacket. The subway was too packed to check it. 

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_Marco._  
_My name is Marco Bodt. Armin knows that I’ve known you for a little while, but not the whole story. He knows you aren’t a friend from work because, well, you know what I do for a living and I don’t really know how that would tie into knowing an Actual Fashion Editor._  


Marco bit his first knuckle nervously. What if J wasn’t ready for full names? …Granted, it had been-  


He did the math quickly in his head: they met during the first month of the spring semester in J’s sophomore year and he’d graduated two and a half years later, so that was three right there. Him and he-who-won’t-be-named broke up a year later and that was nine months ago.  
Or so. 

-Almost five years. He let out a gusty sigh. Had it really been that long? He couldn’t feel bad about at least sharing his first name. Last name might’ve been a bit much, but it would come in handy when Jean started talking to Armin. They’d love each other. Not like that, but still. They’d be great for each other’s businesses. Armin had bought the local paper but hadn’t really been interested in editing it. Or journalism at all. It was a small town rag, really. Little more than poems, coupons, and advice columns, but it fit the small tight-knit village Marco and Duke called home.  


Marco had gotten a dog. A large dog, in fact. He’d purposely not told his pen pal that the dog he’d procured outgrew the collar J gave him within the year. J had helped name the boy, in fact. They’d been tossing names back and forth one day when J was needling Marco to just give in and get the dog he’d wanted since he was a child. (Marco’s sister Maria was afraid of dogs and his brothers were too rough for a cat. All of his kid love had to go to his friends’ pets. "A damn crying shame", J had announced.)  


Sina, King, and Rose were all good names, but he ended up with a goliath Burmese boy, so King it was. He called him Duke though. When Dukey was a puppy Marco had called him every monarchy name he could think of and now the dog didn’t answer to his actual name unless Marco was angry with him.  


J also didn’t know Duke’s breed.  


He’d already gotten on Marco whenever he complained that the dog had gotten into one mischief or another. J had to make up for all those lost years so beggars can’t be choosers.  


Wait until he actually met said choice.  


The realization hit him like a spark of lightening. He paled.  


Meeting J in real life.  


It was something they’d thought over, and certainly joked about. (Mostly in murderous tones, but the joke still held as an ongoing funny.) It wouldn’t be funny anymore.  


They could very well be neighbors. J would meet his dog, go to his coffee shop, fall asleep over papers in his public library. Marco would get to see how the gloves he got J fit, and how bony J actually was. He’d be able to judge for himself whether J’s mother’s fears were misplaced or not. (He suspected that they weren’t, but the idea of actually knowing was too much at the moment.)  


His phone buzzed and the email app was opened before Marco realized what he was doing. 

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_…That is a really cute name, M-_  
_Marco? Marco, I guess._  
_Jean had had to pause to control his flush as it threatened to blind him._  
_I’m Jean Keirstein, nice to meet you. *shakes hands*_  


Who said he had to grow up just because he had to put his big boy pants on? 

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_Jean…Like Gene, or John? I’m sure you get that a lot, I’m sorry._  
_That’s quite the last name you’ve got there. Wait a minute._  
…  
_I just googled it and your family owns businesses. You said the family business like it was only ONE._  
_Jean._  
_Jean how do I know someone famous._

 _RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_I told you I was big in NYC._

 _RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_I knew you made money but you could have let fly that you come from millionaires!!_

 _RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_Why? Would it have made a difference?_

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_Well, yes and no. Now I feel like all my gifts have been kind of lame._  

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_Is that all? Oh my god marco u dweeb_  
_Ur stuff is always perfect, u kno that_

 _RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_All this time I’ve been friends with a celebrity…_

 _RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_Don’t love it til you’ve tried it_

 _RE:Msg: Are u there_  


_I don’t think that’s how the phrase works, Jean._

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_Which one of us is a writer here, sweetheart_

 _RE: Msg: Are u there_  


_Which of us is a school teacher, babe?_

_RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_Say it 2 my face_

 _RE: Msg: Are u there_  
_Only if Armin likes you. ;)_

Jean was officially terrified. 

_Msg: How’s Armin?_  
_How’d your Skype call go? I know he texted me and said he liked you! :D Told you._

 _RE: Msg: How’s Armin?_  
_He’s super pretty. Like, the most beautiful boy I’ve ever met. Warn a bisexual would u?_

_But yeah I liked him. Seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. I’m not sure how I feel about going from cutting and pasting super models and critiques to writing about old folks’ homes in the woods…but it might be nice to get out of the rush of the City. You know how it sets off the acid in the back of my throat._

__

_RE: Msg: How’s Armin?_  
_I KNOW RIGHT? CUTEST BOY. I mean besides me, of course. ;) I’m so proud of him, he’s been transitioning for years and I think he’s finally getting comfortable in his skin._  
_Yeah, I know how it bothers your anxiety. : < Fresh air is good for that, I highly recommend my town._  
_And it isn’t all old folks! We DID have the Olympics one time. So what if it was before you or I were born. SOMETHING happened in this town!!!_  
_I kid though, there’s plenty of stuff to wax poetic about, and that’s in the off-season! Tourist months are crazy. C r a z y._  
_You’ll either love it or you’ll hate it. I can see you acclimating well but idk. Up to you. ;)_  


Marco felt the terror returning as he put the finishing touches on that smilie. _You’ll either love me or you’ll hate me._  
That wasn’t how J worked. That wasn’t how Jean worked. Marco had nursed him through enough breakups to know just how important people were to him. Even if he didn’t end up thinking Marco was ‘cute’ or whatever, they’d still be friends.  


It would hurt, but he would still be there.  


Unless he really did end up hating the mountains. Marco couldn’t think how he could, with all the beauty surrounding him on all sides. Jean loved beautiful things. Jean would love him. Even if he had to take him to Paul Smith’s himself.  


….Okay he’d do that anyway. It’d be a damn crying shame to not take his city boy to the woods his mountain man had finished his schooling in. 

_RE:Msg: Ready?_  
_Are we doing this? How will I know you? I didn’t look you up, Marco! I swear I didn’t! All I know about you is that you’re a giant nerd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!help_

 _RE: Msg: Ready?_  
_I told you, I’m wearing one of your shirts. I’m not hard to spot._  
_Oh, and keep an eye out for King. :P_

 _RE: Msg: Ready?_  
_King? You actually named your dog King?_

 _RE: Msg: Ready?_  
_Of course I did! I couldn’t call him Hannah or Mina now could I?_  
_He answers to Duke._  
_Okay I can see the coffee place now, you’re wearing a red hat, right?_

_RE: Msg: Ready?_  
_Right. What kind of dog is it?_  


Jean’s hands shook in his gloves as he shrugged deeper into the scarf that had been sent in a cardboard box to his doorstep on first day he moved in. It had been addressed to a Jean ‘Harry’ Keirstein. The name brought a melt of warmth to his stomach, despite the November snow already turning his nose pink.  


At the sound of a very loud bark, Jean instinctively turned to look for the source of the echoing animal cry. He found only the largest animal mass he had ever been able to describe as a canine. Registering his friend only as a laughing mess of foggy breath and freckles, Jean’s eyes were riveted to the hulking beast who ran up to him. He was surely about to get his feet knocked out from under him.  


“Duke, Duke, no! We’re on cobblestones, boy!”  
Well, Marco had taken his advice on getting the slobberiest dog he could get his hands on.  


“Sorry, Jean. He’s a Tibetan Mastiff/Burnese Mountain mix. They’re not built dainty.”  


“Jesus Marco, I can see why you couldn’t name him ‘Tiny’.”  


“Well I could, but it would just be demeaning.”  


Brushing the pile of fur and good intentions back off of his torso Jean Keirstein got his first eyeful of his best online friend. Well just 'best friend', now.  


A beaming freckled man looked back at him. When Marco Bodt put his hands in his pockets a brief flicker of sky blue peeked out between his dark curly beard and the collar of his red flannel shirt. Jean blinked. His throat went dry.  


“Jesus Marco, warn a bi will you?” Marco’s laughter turned to steam in the chilled air as Jean tugged his red beanie forward and buried his hands deep into Duke’s fur. The big dog’s even fluffier tail churned at the air like he was being graded on it. Taking in the not-quite-as-weedy-as-he’d-been-picturing man willingly subjecting himself to Duke’s large tongue, Marco shook his head slowly in amazement. Jean was perfect.  
His nose was sharp where Marco’s was soft. Marco’s head was the perfect height to rest on Jean’s. Marco’s grin was bright where Jean’s was cocky.  


Marco was perfect.  
Jean was perfect.  
Duke was, of course, all that they could have possibly asked for. And more.  


“Well, mountain man.”  


“Yes, city boy?”  


“I seem to have lost my number.”  


“Oh god.”  


“Can I have yours?”  


“You’re terrible.”  


“I know.”  


Marco laughed and took a knee beside his dog. Through the thick fur coat and hot dog breath the two smiling friends’ hands met and never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok but beard marco in red flannel haunts my nights...
> 
> It snows in November in the Adirondacks. 
> 
> Beautiful place. Cold as balls.


End file.
